Further Research is Needed
by Pearl Gatsby
Summary: the grad school AU literally no one asked for :: a collection of drabbles, bit of a slow burn :: (M rating will perhaps make sense later-for now, they cuss a lot. kind of but also not TLJ spoilers.)
1. Solo

**[[the grad school AU literally no one asked for]]**

 **Re-uploading this as a series of linked drabbles, because that's more how I see it playing out—so if you've seen it before, what was once one chapter is now three.**

 **In a roundabout way this will contain something of a** _ **TLJ**_ **spoiler, but mostly of the variety of those Facebook posts that are all, "** _ **The Last Jedi**_ **spoilers but I give you no context." Otherwise, this is very much not** _ **TLJ**_ **spoilers, so much as it is my non-** _ **Star Wars**_ **-versed brain transplanting two characters into a context I understand much better: graduate school.**

 **P.S.: I own nothing.**

 **.**

 **Solo**

 **.**

Rey dislikes the new postdoc immediately: he's in the way in the lab. He's getting too much attention. He's making Dr. Skywalker weirdly edgy. And he's kind of stupid handsome.

Dr. Solo, he's called. Just his name makes Rey want to roll her eyes. She doesn't speak to him if she can help it, but as it is, she can't help it—all because of her stupid office.

At first it was an honor, getting moved out of her shared office into the private one that used to be Poe's. Now Dr. Dameron, he was off to his own postdoc; and he'd been one of the department's star researchers. Rey liked to think that the office meant something, that she was following in his footsteps—but since the start of the semester with Dr. Solo, she's learned the error of her assumptions. The one private graduate office is directly next door to the one private postdoc office—so that every time her new colleague has a question, guess whose door he comes knocking on.

"Rey," he repeats.

He's standing in the doorway to her office—a door she hadn't thought she'd need to close, as it's late on a Wednesday evening. Rey was sure no one would be here except for the handful of staff who clean the building after dark. She has earbuds in, but she can't keep pretending she doesn't hear him.

"Yes?" she asks, coolly, removing the earbuds.

"I don't seem to have my key to the mailroom."

"You don't keep it with your office key?"

"I, ah," he glances at the wall behind her. "Well, that's the problem."

"You locked your keys in the mailroom?" Rey can't help but sound incredulous. Solo is so physically imposing in the doorframe, but half the time he opens his mouth he doesn't seem like he has the guts to be researching for Dr. Snoke, much less already through his degree. His dark hair messily frames his face, and his eyes look weary—as if he's already been losing sleep, this early on.

In response to her question, Solo just frowns at her.

They're not a week into the semester and he's already bothered her seven times. He can't work the copier. He needs paper for the printer. He keeps forgetting how to get to different parts of the building, the idiot. –Never mind that the building is a weird architectural mishap in an ill-conceived yin-and-yang-inspired color scheme: some hallways and classrooms are done in white-painted cinderblock and tile and others are black tile and—horror of horrors in a science building— _carpet_. The labs are and grad students are all in the white parts of the building; only the professors' offices are in the "dark" sections. It's a running joke, that the professors' home base is "the dark side"—just one of the small ways Rey and her colleagues comfort themselves under the constant unreasonable demands of finishing their graduate degrees.

Not that she'd share that with Solo. He has no sense of humor. "Fine," she stands, grabbing her own keys from where they are next to her on the desk, wondering how long she'll have to babysit this man who can't do anything for himself. "Let's walk down there and check."


	2. Facetime

**.**

 **Facetime**

 **.**

The spreadsheet program is taking an absurd amount of time to save her charts; it puts Rey on edge. Once last year Poe's computer froze doing something like this and he lost weeks of work—and even though she obsessively saves her files into the cloud, Rey isn't sure she can trust the cloud anymore. Besides, the cloud can only keep what's been saved in the first place.

She's watching the progress bar at the bottom of the page with baited breath when Solo's face pops up on her screen. It's Facetime—except without the part where it rings, or where she chooses to ignore or answer.

"What the fuck?"

"What are you doing? How are you calling me?"

They're yelling at each other at once, then clicking frantically.

"I'm not calling you—"

"I can't hang up," Rey talks over him, clicking multiple times on the red button. "But it didn't ring, either. I didn't _answer_. What are you doing? Are you hacking me?"

"Me?" Solo shoots back. "What are you accusing _me_ of? All of a sudden your _face_ is in the middle of my screen—"

"Well I sure as hell didn't call _you_ ; I don't even _like_ you!" Rey exclaims a bit too loudly. By the time she gets to the last part Solo has stopped talking and he takes in her comments, blanching a little. "I mean—"

"I didn't call you, either," he grits his teeth, looking directly into his webcam so as to get the point across. Behind him, Rey sees a counter, some bowls, a sink, like he's at the kitchen table. She glances at her own video, shown in miniature in the corner of his, just to be sure she doesn't have anything embarrassing on display—but no, it's just her bedroom, just the dresser and the closed closet door a little ways back.

Rey folds her arms, matching his annoyed tone. "So neither of us called each other?"

"Unless one of us is lying."

"Well, _is_ one of us lying?"

"You tell me."

"It won't let me hang up, so you'll have to."

"I can't hang up; I'm downloading something. Just close the computer—that should work."

"Except then I'd lose the huge spreadsheet I've been working on for the last two hours." Rey holds her chin up, trying to make it clear she won't jeopardize her work due to some weird minor computer glitch.

"I'm going to Google Facetime glitches," Solo announces.

"Fine. I'm going to walk away from the computer, and when I come back, you'll be gone." Rey walks to the kitchen and back, impatient; when she peers back into her bedroom, all she sees is stupid Solo on the computer screen. _Fuck_.


	3. Coffee

**.**

 **Coffee**

 **.**

It's morning. Rey has a meeting with Dr. Skywalker today—an intimidating one, regarding her latest chapter and the tables she was finishing for it last night—and she's going to need coffee to be on top of her game. To say she's annoyed when there's already someone in the grad/faculty lounge is an understatement.

"I've been on hold with Apple for the last twenty minutes," Solo says by way of greeting. He points at the phone in his hand to demonstrate.

"Good," Rey smiles insincerely, narrowing her eyes first at him and then at the coffee maker, which is nearly done percolating. Some individuals in the department make terrible coffee, so Rey likes to get there first, do it the _right_ way.

Also, this "on the phone with Apple" thing seems like overkill. On the one hand, the Facetime glitch wouldn't give Solo any kind of tactical advantage over her—he's already higher up in the department, already a Ph.D., already working for the most preeminent researcher at the school. Still. Nothing like it has been documented—especially the part where it took over her computer but _not_ her phone. Rey didn't think Facetime worked liked that.

As it was, Solo's face had stayed on her computer screen for no less than half an hour the night before—and she was _sure_ that running Facetime was at least half the reason the spreadsheet took so long to save. It was exhausting. He'd kept huffing and grumbling at the screen as he tried to find answers and found none.

"Who can I contact about a new computer? Dean Hux?" he'd asked her finally.

"Oh sure," Rey had said, glaring right into the webcam so as to appear to make eye contact with him. "Postdoc needs a new Mac. Can't even pay the grad students a living wage, but let's drop everything for _Dr. Solo_."

"You get a living wage," he'd argued, scoffing.

Rey had clenched her jaw. She thought of all the medical bills she was still paying, the funeral expenses, the loans—all the problems her stupid, good-for-nothing deadbeat parents had left her with. The spreadsheet program announced the document was saved, and she clicked it closed. Her last words to Solo before she slammed the computer shut had been clipped, low: " _You_ don't live _my_ life."

Now he looks so nonchalant, balancing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pours himself a fresh cup of coffee. His hair falls into his face a little, and Rey tries not to notice how his Oxford stretches and strains when he does it.

"Coffee?" he offers, setting down his mug on the counter and switching the phone to the other ear.

Rey is confused by the shift in his attitude, the soft question, a peace offering. She opens her mouth to respond when a voice answers behind her.

"No, Dr. Rylo, I'll have peppermint tea."

Rey nearly jumps out of her skin. She didn't hear someone else coming—the lounge is in the damned carpeted portion of the building—and the voice is perhaps the one she least expects: Dr. Snoke.

The man is ancient, wrinkled, and mean as hell. When she whirls around to see him she nearly misses him entirely—he's not even coming into the lounge, just passing by. And now he's ordered Solo to bring him tea—at least, she _thinks_ he means Solo.

"I thought your name was Solo," Rey says carefully, looking back over her shoulder at the man in question.

"It is," he says thinly, turning to open the cupboard above the coffee maker to find another mug.

"He—didn't mean me, did he?" she asks, glancing back toward the doorway. If you accidentally crossed _Rey_ and _Solo_ , she supposes, _Rylo_ might be the logical result.

"Why would he mean _you_? He doesn't even _know_ you." Solo's response is clipped, annoyed. He's taken down a mug and begins to rinse it off in the sink.

Rey opens her mouth to retort, but it's true. Dr. Snoke is notoriously difficult to work for; all of his graduate students in recent memory quit the program or failed their comps and had to leave. Solo knows she works for Skywalker. It's not an unfair assessment—but it still stings.

"This coffee better be strong," she pulls out the coffee pot as Solo microwaves water for Snoke's tea.

Solo scoffs in her direction. She pours coffee into her mug and takes a sip— _it's good_. Maybe even stronger than she makes it. That silly game "Hot Coffee" flickers through her mind, something the English grad students played that time she went to that grad mixer. _I like my men how I like my coffee…_

"You know, the problem might be on _your_ end," Solo adds. "You should probably try calling Apple, too."

His tone is infuriating. She supposes she ought to be nicer to Solo—he's connected. He's graduated. He got into a postdoc, so that must mean he did _something_ right. But Rey's had enough of forced niceness to men in sciences who refuse to see her as their caliber. Right now she's Dr. Skywalker's best student; she's set to defend in the spring; and she isn't going to let one tall, dark, and handsome prick ruin that for her.

"Right," Rey says on her way out, remembering what an enormous jerk this man has so far shown himself to be. "Well some of us have more important things to do than deliver _tea_. See you around, _Rylo_."


	4. Neighbors

**.**

 **Neighbors**

 **.**

Dr. Skywalker _hates_ her latest chapter. Rey doesn't understand—after all the time she spent on it, after she followed his directions _explicitly_ , somehow whatever she does is never good enough.

The meeting in his office lasts too long—an hour and a half. The door is open because that's policy and she sits ramrod straight, taking copious notes and nodding and saying "yes, sir," as other grad students and professors walk past the door. She keeps up the front as long as she's in his presence, and then as long as she's in the hallway. When Rose stops her to gripe about the sections she TAs, Rey commiserates, pretending her biggest problem is undergrads who expect to pass the class without taking notes or turning in lab reports. But when she finally gets to her own office and shuts the door behind her, she bursts into tears.

It's dark and cloudy outside—they're in for some early-morning storms—and Rey doesn't even flick the lights on. If anyone knocks, she's not here, she decides—for the rest of the fucking _day_.

Dr. Skywalker is brilliant and much-admired, but in recent years he's been more and more disconnected from the academy. He's tired of the bureaucracy, he'll remark vaguely when he doesn't show up to faculty meetings, doesn't show up to lab safety checks, doesn't show up to the graduate school banquet at which Rey is awarded a fellowship he nominated her for.

Rey's frustration morphs into rage, and she hurls her notes at the wall—the legal pad, the printouts of her chapter with red ink all over, the pen clipped loosely to the top page. At this rate, he won't put her up to graduate in May, and then she may as well give up. Dr. Skywalker has made it clear he's on his way out the door. Not only can she not afford to take out any more loans, but she'll be without a dissertation chair; and since her research ties to Dr. Skywalker's, her graduation may be delayed even further. She could be asked to start over. She could be asked to throw out the only two good chapters she has. And that would be it. That would be the end.

There is a sudden knock on her door, and Rey starts.

"Hello?" a male voice calls. "Everything alright in there?"

Rey stills, swallowing any leftover tears. _I'm not here_ , she thinks at the presence on the other side of the door—because of course it's Solo, of course _that's_ who's at the door.

"Rey? I heard you go in. Did something fall?"

"Everything is fine," Rey calls out. Her voice doesn't waver, doesn't sound full of tears. She'll be damned if Solo sees her like this, after his Facetime glitch superiority complex and stupid beautiful hair—

There is a noise—the handle of the door moves, and Rey glares at it. He _tried to open the door_.

"Nothing to see here!" she shouts cheerily, muttering afterward, "Now fuck off."

It's quiet on the other side of the door, and in a moment she hears a door—the door to his office, which _oh right_ is _literally next door_ —slam shut.


	5. Shaving

**.**

 **Shaving**

 **.**

Rey has settled into bed, the phone on her nightstand, when suddenly the screen lights up and music starts playing—something alternative, something vaguely nostalgic. She jumps and grabs for the thing, weirded out by the way it seems to have turned on by itself, and is greeted by a man's naked chest.

It's all she can do to stifle the shriek that is her gut reaction. She imagines she's gotten some sort of virus, but it turns out the program running is Facetime and the owner of the chest—his face flashes briefly into view, shaving cream on one cheek—is none other than Solo.

Rey hesitates. Should she call out to him? Berate him for sending her an inappropriate video? Except he doesn't seem to be conscious of the phone. He disappears entirely from the frame before his chest comes back, bending, leaning—

It must be that absurd glitch again, the one that connected their computers. His phone is where the music's coming from, and he's left it on the bathroom counter while he shaves.

Rey turns the brightness all the way down, afraid of him seeing her face illuminated on his phone screen—what will he think? No, not safe enough—carefully, gingerly, she sets the phone back on the nightstand so the camera will point at the ceiling of her dark room. With one finger Rey reaches over and tries unsuccessfully to close the app again. Meanwhile, Solo sings a few bars of the song playing, badly. Rey snorts as quietly as she can manage.

Even with the phone on the nightstand, Rey can still make out the image on the screen, and in a decision she doesn't care to examine she allows herself to look.

He takes care of himself, Solo. Some men wear sport coats to create an illusion—but the breadth of his shoulders is no illusion. His skin is smooth, naturally darker than hers; Rey catches herself looking too long at his nipples and feels her face heat up in shame. _He's a busybody_ and _a total prick_ , she reminds herself, but that sends her thoughts in another direction. When his face comes into view again she can't _not_ look at his full lips, distorted as they look from the strange low angle, and _that's_ not really a train of thought she intended to take, _either_.

When his hand reaches for the phone, she retreats quickly, yanking the covers over her head and holding her breath, but when the music stops abruptly her room is quiet, with no other noise from the other end of the call. After counting to three hundred—a reasonable number—Rey decides the coast is clear. Whether or not Solo realized she was on the other end, the call has ended, and now she can resume what she was doing—trying to sleep.

In the morning she hides her phone under her pillow, afraid of bringing it with her as she completes her daily morning routine. It's logical she would dream of Solo's naked chest; it's, after all, one of the last images she saw before falling asleep.

She repeats that fact back to herself, again and again, until she begins to believe it's true.


	6. Broken Things

**.**

 **Broken Things**

 **.**

Rey is making coffee on Tuesday morning when Solo blows in. He seizes a free mug from the drying rack and slams the faucet on, rinsing the inside for good measure and then splashing the water back into the sink.

Rey is only just scooping the last portion of grounds into the filter, dropping the scoop back into the coffee canister and closing one plastic lid to open another—the chamber where the water pours in. Solo is still blocking the sink; she eyes him briefly and gives a neutral, "Good morning. Mind if I get in here?"

Solo moves from the sink, holding his coffee mug out in front of him as if the coffee could be ready instantaneously. Unless he's going to write a grant for a Keurig, there isn't much of a chance of that ever happening in this staff lounge. It's all Rey can do not to giggle at his tension—there's something over-the-top about it.

"Know where I can get some fucking, I don't know, WD-40? The fucking door is fucking _stuck_ and of _course_ the _fucking office personnel_ are away at some _fucking_ training—"

Rey sees how Solo's hand is tightening on the mug. "Not sure. What about a door?"

Solo slams the mug onto the counter and Rey flinches, expecting it to break. It's a tough old thing, withstanding the force, but when she looks back up at Solo he looks a little taken aback, suddenly aware of his own tantrum. "My office," he answers, his expression strained. Probably he's embarrassed.

"Did you try jiggling the handle and pulling up?"

"What?"

"You just—" Rey demonstrates in the air, miming with two hands, but when Solo continues to frown at her she just turns her hand palm-up. "Let me try your key."

He raises an eyebrow but complies, still frowning, following her down the hallway to his office. Rey fits the key into the lock just fine, but it doesn't want to turn.

"Yep, it's just like—" she wiggles the handle up and down, turning the key at precisely the right moment in a motion that's become muscle memory ever since her first semester in this ridiculous building, and the door swings open before she even finishes the sentence, mere seconds passing— "my old office."

Solo is clearly surprised. "I tried this for—how did you do that?"

And so Rey sets to explaining, or trying to. Solo remains indignant, as if it's an insult to him that Rey knows how to open a stuck door; and Rey is the one slamming things around in the staff lounge, grumbling _ungrateful prick_.

.

Rey is working at the desk in her office on Wednesday afternoon when she hears someone calling down the hallway, then rapid footsteps—and there's an undergrad in her doorway, one of Dr. Skywalker's undergrad TAs.

"Rey, I'm sorry," the girl pants, "but we're having that problem where the monitor isn't connected to the projector, and I don't remember how you fixed it…"

Even as she sighs inwardly, Rey puts a smile on. "I'm coming," she says, grabbing her keys and following the girl down a stairwell. "I swear I've told Skywalker how to fix this seven times now—"

"Oh, it's not him, it's a guest lecturer," the girl is saying as she holds open the classroom door, and of course the disgruntled guest lecturer is Dr. Solo. He's hunched over the podium console at the front of the classroom as the undergrad class carries on boredly throughout the lecture hall—talking, texting, listening to headphones, showing no signs of distress or care that class should have started ten minutes ago.

"Dr. Solo, I've got someone to help," the girl calls out, and Solo turns to look at Rey. His face falls, ever-so-slightly, and it sours Rey's mood instantly. He probably doesn't like having to defer to a girl—but Rey has always been that girl, the girl in the lab that no one expects to be competent, much less an expert. She refrains from rolling her eyes and smiles brightly because it's just about the most annoying thing she can think of to do, to seem so cheery in the face of his frustration.

It's a matter of accessing the right display settings. As Rey shows him where to click, Solo makes some excuse about how his last school only used Macs. Rey is sure to give him an extra-bright smile as she leaves, reminding him that it's _really very easy_.

.

"Piece of _shit_!"

Rey is leaving the building late Thursday evening, passing the lab, when she hears the exclamation through the closed door.

She pauses, rolling her eyes, and in the time it takes her to hesitate Solo sees her through the thin window on the door and goes to open it.

"Problems?" Rey can't help the gleeful tone that sneaks into her question. Solo has been both insufferable and completely helpless this week.

Solo flings a hand in the direction of the lab. "Something's jamming, and it's making this stupid sound like—"

Rey's eyes light up. "Say no more." Delighted at another chance to one-up Solo, she drops her bags just outside the lab door and walks past him toward the offending machine. It's exactly what she knew it would be, and she knows exactly how to fix it.

"Now I could tell you how to fix it," she calls Solo over, "but you'd never believe me."

He simply stares her down, his full lips downturned in a pout. A lock of hair falls loose from his thick mane and he lifts a hand to push it out the way, impatient.

Gleefully, Rey reaches out with a fist and _whacks_ the side of the machine. Solo sputters, reaching out to stop her too late, absolutely horrified, until he realizes—the noise has stopped. The display is reading normal. The machine has gone back to running the test.

"You've got to be kidding me," he says to the machine, not looking Rey in the eye.

"You're welcome," she practically gloats, walking past him and heading out.

"How do you keep doing that?" Solo calls after her.

Getting to whack the machine has improved her mood even further, so when Rey turns back to answer him she forgets to be pissy. What comes out is genuine, accompanied by a gentle smirk: "I guess I'm just good at fixing broken things."


	7. Busy

**.**

 **Busy**

 **.**

"Not _you_ again." Rey sighs heavily as Solo's face appears on her computer screen. She clicks rapidly to close the program, but as usual there's no use in that.

"I didn't call," he insists, briefly showing her his palms.

"I didn't accept," she replies in a matching tone, noting with some relief that this time he's clothed. "I'm very busy."

"So am I," he frowns, looking up from the screen into the webcam so as to appear to look into her eyes.

Rey mirrors his action. "Then let's not speak," she says to her own webcam. She glances back down at the screen—Solo nods, his attention already back on his own screen. She hears the soft sounds of him typing and returns to her work, shifting the video over so she can still view the document she's typing in.

Time passes. She's not sure how much. Rey tries to write the next sentence of this paragraph—she really, genuinely _tries_. But she keeps pausing every few words, erasing them, and starting over. Once she's written the beginning of the sentence she can't remember the end of it. She listens to Solo's typing, soft and intense. She hears him huff out a tiny sigh and glances away from the document at the video.

Well, _glance_ is all she intends to do, really, but once she's noticed him she doesn't look away—the dark curtain of his hair falling around his face, the set of his full lips, the subtle pinkness of an old scar that slashes across half his face. He briefly lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. He drags the hand through his part, absently fluffing his silky hair as he frowns at something on the computer screen.

Then he's back to typing and Rey is breathing shallowly through her nose. She watches the subtle movement of his dark eyes and gets the sense that _this_ is really him, _this_ is Solo in his element. He looks so focused, so interested in his work, and it certainly doesn't sound like _he's_ writing and rewriting the same sentence again and again.

Rey taps her fingers on the keys, touching them without applying enough pressure to type, and tries to remember what this sentence is supposed to be _about_. But after just a few moments she glances at Solo just before he bites his bottom lip, gently distorting its perfect shape.

Rey's mouth falls open involuntarily in a small gasp. She watches his eyes shift, and then his mouth falls open to mirror hers. Slowly he raises his eyes until he is looking directly at her and—she swears—he _smolders_ when he asks, "Shouldn't you be working?"

Rey starts, unable to play it cool, and rapidly looks away from the screen, making a dismissive gesture with one hand as she insists, a little too loudly, "I'm _reading_!" The blush heats up her cheeks, and when she looks back at his image on the screen his expression has changed. There's a small upturn at the corner of his lips, a slight lifting of one eyebrow, a new brightness in his eyes. She gets the distinct feeling he's _laughing_ at her and realizes she's been tricked, that of course he was never making eye contact with her, only staring at his own webcam instead of the screen.

"Can't you get through to Apple to fix your damn computer?" she sputters, changing the topic again.

"I think the problem is you," Solo shrugs, amusement still coloring his expression in a way that seems gloating. Rey tries to imagine banging him in the head with a frying pan, or a large stick—something to wipe that expression away. She certainly doesn't wish he was right in front of her. _Doesn't_ want to see how far he intends to take that smolder. _Doesn't_ want to dare him with her lips and see then if he's so tough.

"Oh, fuck off," Rey snaps, slamming her laptop closed. She doesn't bother to check whether the connection lingers on her phone; she storms into the kitchen, where she aimlessly opens cabinets and realizes she only has enough for a couple more days and no room in the budget. There's still a week and a half left in the month before she gets her next check.

Holding the cabinet open with one hand, Rey lets her shoulders sag, the humiliation of Solo catching her looking combining with what she knows she'll have to do to eat the rest of the month.

Reigning in her frustration, she shuts the cabinet deliberately and returns to her bedroom. Her phone is dark; she pokes the home button to confirm Solo's absence. When the coast is clear she leans back until she's flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, enunciating crisply: "Fuck."


	8. Groceries

**.**

 **Groceries**

 **.**

Rey's done this many times: the empty tote bags in her backpack, the alarm on her phone to arrive before opening hours, the rarely-used staircase around the side of the building that allows her to sneak back into the building with minimal human contact. Every time she feels guilty, feels ashamed, even though she knows she shouldn't be. When the cabinets run low it's her only choice, the only way she can get her own work done. She remembers that she didn't get herself into this mess: it's because she's _responsible_ that she knows hunger. It's because she owned up to her parents' mistakes.

But this time when she tries to leave the building unnoticed—the same stairwell she'd taken at lunch, when she carried the offending bags up to her office—she finds that someone else has discovered the dimly-lit staircase she uses, and someone else is apparently in the mood for a fucking _interrogation_.

She tries to brush past him, to continue down the narrow stairwell with only the slightest nod in his direction, but in her efforts to seem nonchalant she moves too slowly and meets him on a landing where the staircase turns. As he greets her, he blocks her path and sets to snooping.

"What's all this?" Solo asks, peering into the tote bags even as she pulls them out of his reach. "Do you need help taking this somewhere?"

"I'm fine," Rey says, trying to brush past him; but he shifts and completely blocks her path. The steps are narrow and the landings match in width; therefore, she's at his mercy.

"Let me," he goes for one. 

"I said I'm _fine_ ," Rey swings the bags behind her back.

"What's all that? Food donations?" As tall as he is, he's seen the contents of the bags—the jar of peanut butter, the ramen, the canned goods. There are a few frozen dinners she'd stashed in the grad freezer, and she doesn't have time to chat before they start to thaw, maybe spoil.

"Yes," she grinds out. "I need to get home."

"Then I'll take them for you," Solo offers almost cheerily, extending a hand. "Drop them off." He seems eager, and Rey's face heats up as he tries to reach for the bags.

"No—" she pulls back, going back up a few steps. "They're… they're _for_ me."

Solo furrows his eyebrows, confused.

Embarrassed, Rey feels hot tears welling up in the corners of her eyes and turns her frustration into bile. "They're from the Grad Food Pantry. Not that you'd know what that is—I'm sure you didn't _need_ charity at your fancy private-school PhD."

Solo takes a step back, stunned, and Rey uses this to her advantage: she advances quickly, avoiding looking him in the eye, brushing roughly past him and clattering down the stairs. She doesn't look back to see if he follows, doesn't look back at the building once she's pushed the door open, doesn't bother in the growing twilight to brush away the trails of angry tears that finally start to escape.

 **.**

 **Okay, so that was kind of sneaky of me… but not without reason. I'm posting this chapter and the next at the same so you can see where I was going with all this. Thanks for the reads/follows/reviews so far!**


	9. Ramen

**.**

 **Ramen**

 **.**

Rose texts her: _Hey! Wanna go grab dinner?_

 _Just got groceries and I'm on a really tight deadline. Thanks though!_

Rey rereads her response once and sends it. She doesn't hesitate about stretching the truth like that; Rose is nice and all, but she's younger and looks up to Rey as a mentor. Besides, Rey's learned to keep all of this close to her chest.

The microwave beeps and Rey carefully extracts the mug of hot water, pouring it into the cup of ramen and folding the lid closed again. She glances at the clock to count three minutes when she gets another text from Rose: _Okay, no worries! We'll go soon though. I'll buy!_

Rey releases a thin breath through her nose as she reads the message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard but not typing a response. If Rose forgets, she'll remind her at the start of next month, when she's prepared to pay her own way.

Deep down, she knows this pride or whatever it is is ridiculous, but it's hard to unlearn something so deeply ingrained. As it is, Rey is practically allergic to asking for help. She remembers the days with her parents—the rare days they were around at all—when she'd go to bed hungry, go to school hungry, pretend she'd forgotten her lunch. She remembers how her teachers would catch on—they'd pull her aside and ask embarrassing questions, questions about whether her parents needed help. Her father raged about it, would shout at her because the school had called, or a teacher, or because he found a weekend's worth of lunches and dinners tucked away in her backpack.

She didn't know whether she'd preferred her father screaming in her face or gone, because when he'd gone—and her mother with him—that had been a whole new charade, a misadventure in which Rey learned too early things about keeping the power on, about washing her own clothes, about forging documents and ignoring bills and spending long nights in their beat-up, creaky old house totally alone. Her mother had left her in charge: said they'd be back soon, not to worry, take care of the house; and when the first summer had come Rey had found herself suddenly without food from school, or electricity, or protection from the men who came banging on the door looking for money.

Of course now, older, she knows better. She knows she shouldn't have been ashamed of her free lunches—that the hot blush she felt when she ate them, the fact of _needing_ to eat them, _wanting_ to eat them—and that there is now no reason to be ashamed of the grad food pantry. The people at the grad food pantry don't know about her childhood. They don't know about anything other than her salary, which was the same as every other graduate student's—abysmal. There is no financial statement to be submitted, only rules to follow: number and type of items, strict opening and closing hours, and always respect for others.

If anything, the _university_ is the party that deserves to feel ashamed—that they've created this situation, that they can't bother to pay students more. But still Rey feels the old embarrassment she'd learned from her father, the mortification of being discovered with bags of food, being found to be in need. Sometimes the kindness of others was too much to bear.

Sometime around the second year of her Ph.D., word got around, even though she hadn't told anyone. It just happened that one day she'd attended a get-together at Poe's that turned out to be a potluck, arrived empty-handed and been sent home with Tupperware containers of leftovers. She'd tried to refuse, but everyone made it seem like she was doing them a favor—"Oh, we won't finish it." And it didn't stop there. She'd agree to eat out with Rose, set aside money specifically for that purpose, and watch the other girl insist on paying. She'd even endured Finn's well-meaning but still mortifying notifications anytime there was free food in the staff lounge. Even now she feels it's all too much. And to top it all off, what's it all for? A job she probably has no chance of getting, in a field she only sometimes loves nowadays, with the constant shadow of a possibility that her parents will appear again out of the blue to drain her dry.

—Her ramen is done. Carefully she peels back the lid, trying to avoid being burned by the steam, replaying in her head the confrontation in the stairwell, the look on Solo's face.


	10. Falafel

**.**

 **Falafel**

 **.**

Summer temperatures return unexpectedly, and Rey opens the door to her office wide. On the one hand, she's in danger of being accosted by every person who walks by; but the alternative in this poorly-ventilated office is sweating through her clothes. She puts earbuds in so as to appear busy, but that doesn't stop someone from hovering in the doorway, knocking on the doorframe.

She pretends not to notice, as if she's actually listening to music; but out of the corner of her vision she can tell that her visitor persists. She takes out the earbuds and turns to see who's here to bother her. It _would_ be the one person she hoped most to avoid today.

"Rey," Solo says, glancing distractedly at his wrist for a moment to check the time. He isn't wearing a watch; his brow furrows in confusion and he looks back up at her.

"Yes?" she asks with as much dignity as she can muster.

"I've just returned from the Student Union with my lunch only to be reminded I'm supposed to attend a catered faculty meeting. I don't want this to go to waste—do you like falafel?" His expression is gentle, almost pleading, and he extends a clear plastic box to her. Inside there appears to be a falafel wrap and a bag of potato chips.

Rey hesitates for a moment, weighing her desire against her pride. Presently she turns back to the computer with a frown, saying to the screen, "Just put it in the fridge. It'll keep."

"I—" Solo starts to say something else, but she doesn't look at him again. "I don't have time right now. Here." His voice is brusque as he deposits the box on the filing cabinet that sits between her desk and the doorway, and then—mercifully—he leaves.

Rey glances over at the box of food, just out of the corner of her eye. All she'd been able to apportion for lunch today was another cup of ramen, and the ramen pales in comparison. Still, she feels no less humiliated that Solo came straight to her with his extra food. More charity.

She tries to open another file and the computer lags. She checks on the falafel out of the corner of her eye: still there.

 _Well, his office_ is _next door_ , a tiny, salivating voice reminds her. _You were probably the most convenient person to give it to_.

The longer the falafel sits undisturbed across the room, the less power she has to resist it. Finally she snatches it, her stomach grumbling loudly to accentuate her shame. _Fuck_ , Rey scolds herself as she opens the plastic box and the heavenly smell of the falafel hits her.

She tries eat slowly, but she inhales the meal, almost as if she's suddenly afraid Solo will show up in the doorway wanting to take it back. When she's finished, her hands are greasy from the potato chips, and she takes the empty container to the staff lounge to throw it away and wash her hands.

In the staff lounge, Dr. Skywalker is slipping something into the microwave that looks very much like a TV dinner.

"Dr. Skywalker!" Rey greets him. "Aren't you supposed to be at the meeting? Where they feed you lunch?"

Dr. Skywalker pauses his squinting at the microwave buttons and levels a weary glance at her. "If there was, in fact, a meeting with catered lunch, I would know about it; rest assured, no other meetings even cross my radar. They'll find me if they need me," he gives a dismissive wave of one hand.

Rey stifles a snort at his answer. It's not until she's back at her desk that she wonders—if Skywalker wasn't invited, what sort of meeting was it? And if there was _no meeting at all_ —

 **.**

When Solo stops by half an hour later to inquire about the quality of the food, Rey gives him a long, cool look.

"It's that bad?" he worries, his face falling slightly. It's silly—he looks so _eager_ , so insistent like this.

"You could just _say_ you're sorry," Rey speaks in a low, angry voice, "instead of humiliating me _further_."

Solo looks stricken, but that expression is quickly replaced by one of frustration, his brows drawing together and his eyes burning. He opens and closes his mouth without ever speaking a word. Then he turns swiftly on his heel and retreats into the adjoining office, slamming the door as he goes.


	11. Little Talks

**.**

 **Little Talks**

 **.**

Rey is shocked when she gets a Facetime call on her laptop—one she actually has the chance to accept or deny, rather than one that forces its way in. Especially because it's from the one person whose Facetime calls usually come without an option, the person she hasn't been speaking to all week: Solo.

It's a Friday evening. She's home as usual, working, but she's trying to throw in a little self-care: she's already changed into pajamas and sipping a mug of hot tea. The weather doesn't match her cozy mood—it's unseasonably warm—but she's been disregarding that in her anticipation of what she spends all year expecting October to be.

It's been exhausting, not speaking to Solo on top of everything else. He's everywhere—not just the office next door, but in the hallway. Or in the mail room. Or making more coffee. Or in the lab at the moment she needs something. The longer the silence stretches between them, the more incensed she feels, the more embarrassed, the more— _tense_. She feels _really fucking tense_.

The call keeps ringing and ringing, and Rey sighs before answering, her finger hovering over the touch pad as she prepares to hang up.

"I didn't mean to humiliate you," is the first thing he says, and Rey waits just a moment longer. "I know what that's like."

"What?" Rey scoffs, the tension manifesting as bitterness. "Humiliation, or not having enough food for the end of the month? I've seen what we pay you here. I've read message boards on what students get at your last school. It's _far_ —"

"Both," Solo interrupts. Solo keeps talking: "I admit it was some of my own doing—a bit of a 'rebellious phase' that went too far." He shrugs.

Rey can't help but roll her eyes. The man is utterly ridiculous.

"Fine, then," his temper flares, and he looks directly into the camera so as to deliver his glare properly. "I called to apologize. _Clearly_ you're not interested in hearing it, so—"

"Solo, wait," Rey holds up a hand, her voice weary. This has been going on too long. Being mad at him all the time takes too much of her energy. "If you understand, then you know this is… a bit sensitive."

She's been trying her utmost _not_ to notice that his hair is glistening wet, falling messily all around his face as if he's just stepped out of the shower, but as he frowns at her image on his computer screen there's no way to ignore it. He doesn't speak. He swallows, waiting, and his Adam's apple bobs. Instead of his usual button-down, he seems to be wearing a white undershirt. There's something very appealing about the curve the shirt draws just below his neck.

 _Damn_ , he's distracting.

"Or maybe not," Rey shrugs, embarrassed at how the silence stretches out between them, how he _still_ isn't speaking. She waves her hand in front of her face as if the conversation is a cobweb she's trying to clear. "Whatever. It's fine. Apology accepted."

"No," he cuts in, insistent, raising his eyes to the webcam so that she feels he's looking _directly_ at her. Of course he isn't staring right into her eyes; he's staring right into the little circle at the top of his screen; but that hardly matters. His voice is low and urgent as he commands, "Tell me."

Maybe it's the fact that his facial expressions are so transparent, that he seems so earnest. Maybe it's the way he props his chin on his fist as she talks, the simple, strong lines of his forearm prominently displayed for the camera. Or maybe it's just the fact that no one's ever really asked _her_ to tell the story _herself_. Whatever it is, Rey tells him, the condensed version: how her parents taught her to feel shame at small kindnesses, how she taught herself how to pay their bills. How they'd been gone more than home, how she'd been sure so many times she'd been abandoned. How she'd worked through high school, through college, through even her master's, saving as much as she could, only to find that her mother had had surgery, that the medical bills were coming to her. How her mother had resurfaced to beg her to pay for her father's funeral, only to find out it wasn't her father dead at all but some other man her mother had taken up with. How no matter how well she thought she'd hidden herself, they always seemed to find her, to see what they could take.

Solo's story is briefer: his parents' messy divorce, his feud with the uncle he briefly lived with, the years he dropped out of school and made one bad decision after another. He'd been homeless for a time, but not too long—he'd worked until he could pay to finish school, and then he won research fellowship after research fellowship until he no longer had any debt at all and had secured the prestigious postdoc with Dr. Snoke.

They both listen to the other politely, not interrupting, not asking questions; but when Solo's story ends on a high note there's still a weird tension in the air. Rey knows it's her personal sob story creating the tension; no one knows what to do with information like that. So she cracks a joke, trying to create more room to breathe. "Yeah, all that and—what was it he called you? _Rylo_?"

Solo groans. "The man doesn't know a _single_ person's name. If he was married I bet he wouldn't even know what to call his wife, his children."

"What does he call people, if he doesn't know any of their names?"

"Whatever comes out. Lately he's getting worse—one day I was 'Rylo,' then 'Kylo,' then 'Rylen.' Yesterday I was 'Ren.'"

"How do you even know he means _you_?" Rey giggles in spite of herself.

Solo shrugs. "He knows some of the sounds of names—just not the way they go. You have to get imaginative. Took me two minutes yesterday to figure out that 'Sukerwal' was Dr. Skywalker. He likes to mash up first and last names."

"Wait, what's _your_ first name?"

"Ben." His smile shifts, ever-so-slightly, and Rey sees it—of _course_ she sees it. She's trying to put her finger on what _it_ is when he turns his head toward something off-camera and then back to the computer.

"I have to go," he explains. "But—I'm glad we talked like this."

Rey nods dumbly. "Alright," she finally manages to say.

"Well I'll see you soon, I'm sure," he closes, looking toward whatever is off-camera again.

He looks back to her, waiting to let her respond in kind. Rey smiles, the tiniest bit, and nods. "Ben."


	12. Friends

**This one's a bit longer… hope y'all enjoy! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and follows so far!**

 **.**

 **Friends**

 **.**

Late Sunday night Rey goes to the lab, overwhelmed. She has a deadline for Dr. Skywalker Tuesday, and things just aren't adding up. It's a bit late, but if she starts now, she may be able to replicate the results she wanted one more time.

The lab is sometimes sparsely populated on weekends, though only by grad students; and while it helps her focus to be alone, it helps her anxiety to have company. Tonight she's lucky: only one other person in the lab, and that person is Finn.

Finn is gearing up for comps in the spring, and he's agonizing about it. As they work, he grills Rey with questions—did she feel prepared? Who was the nicest professor on her committee? Who was the meanest? Who asked curveball questions? Who has she heard to watch out for? Rey answers the best she can, trying to pepper all her answers with reassurances. "I know it's stressful," she reminds him, "but you can't let your nerves fry your brain. You know?"

"I think so," Finn says, looking a little deflated. "I just—we've worked so hard for it. What happens if I fail?"

"You take them again."

"And what if I fail again?"

Rey is about to answer when they hear the door open. They both look up.

"Dr. Solo," Finn greets him, making his voice more gruff and professional. Rey tries not to snicker.

Solo approaches them, walking right up to here Finn is sitting. "Are you still using this?" he indicates the machine in front of him.

"Ah, I'm just about done," Finn answers, glancing quickly at the display. "A minute, maybe."

"Good," Solo answers, setting his laptop on the counter and heading back out the door.

"He's so cold," Finn frowns when the door has closed completely.

Rey shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe not all the time."

Finn blanches. "Wait, so you've been spending time with him?"

Rey raises her hand in quick surrender. "His office is next door to mine! Anytime he does something stupid like lock his keys in the mail room he asks me, since I'm next door."

"What a space case," Finn says thoughtfully. Rey almost laughs again; Finn has a good heart but is probably the most absent-minded person she's ever met.

Finn gathers up his work and Rey refocuses on her dissertation chapter, trying to find another way to bolster her theories without the new data. She's typing when Finn takes his leave, so she calls a goodbye over her shoulder. Then the footsteps come right back, and she turns with a sarcastic grin on her face, "And what did you forget now, F—"

Solo brushes past her; Rey feels her face redden. "Thought you were Finn."

"Finn?" He's shuffling through some papers, opening his laptop.

"You know, Finn? Yea tall, third-year, was literally _just_ here when you walked in?"

"Oh, so _that's_ his name," Solo says without much interest.

Rey frowns at this statement but goes back to her typing. "Anyway," she adds, after a few moments, "hello."

"A little late for that," Solo answers, not looking up.

Rey huffs out a breath in response. Silence stretches between them—or the nearest thing to it, with the whirr of machines and the tapping of their fingers on laptop keys—until Rey turns to him again, annoyed.

"You really didn't know his name? What, are you _trying_ to be like Snoke?"

Solo looks at her, annoyed. "When would I have met him?"

"At that barbecue—oh, wait, that was July. I guess you weren't here yet. Well, surely just—around. Finn's _always_ here, unless he's with Rose."

"Rose?"

"Another doctoral student?" Rey shakes her head at him. "You really _don't_ know anybody, do you?"

"Force of habit," Solo replies enigmatically.

Rey just goes back to typing.

 **.**

At two in the morning, Rey smooths a hand over her forehead and leans far back in the chair, blinking at the ceiling, trying to get her focus back. She and Solo have barely spoken since ten, working separately on their research; and with her next to her instead of on her computer screen, it's harder to—Rey catches herself, wanting to choose the right word— _appreciate_ his, er, _company_.

 _His company_. Pff. She doesn't know how long she stares up at the ceiling, her mind cycling endlessly through the sentence she just wrote. She thinks about how he'd smiled when she said his name, pictures his full lips and the glint in his eyes. "Ben," she whispers, forgetting herself.

"Rey?" he replies, next to her.

She takes a deep breath, trying to hold in her embarrassment, trying to pretend she meant to call out to him. So she tells him what's really at the back of her mind: "Why am I doing any of this."

"I don't know, why are you?" His tone isn't unkind, and when she sits back up he's watching her thoughtfully. "Something's eating at you. Tell me."

His soft entreaty—she can't ignore it. She tells him. "I feel like I'm at a dead end, and Skywalker hates everything I've done since the semester began. What if all this has been for nothing? What if my dissertation is shit? And what if it isn't, but I can't find a job after this?" She wrings her hands as she talks, runs a finger along the edge of her laptop. It's embarrassing to say these things out loud. "And I feel so lost in all of this. Skywalker—well." She huffs out a humorless laugh. "No one pretends a dissertation chair is there for _moral_ support, and I'm the one that everyone's looking to. Finn comes in here and tells me how terrified he is of comps; Rose wants advice for being a better TA; and every time…"

She trails off as exhausted tears collect behind her eyes.

"Every time?" Solo's voice is gentle beside her.

"Every time I go to the food pantry, every time I'm up here until dawn _praying_ for data I can work with… I just feel like I don't belong here." She tightens her hand into a fist on the counter, staring at it, trying not to speak.

"You're familiar with 'impostor syndrome,' aren't you?" Solo scolds softly. "Rey, just listen to yourself. You have friends in the program, more friends than half the grad students I've met—and you have allies. Dr. Skywalker's in your corner; he _has_ to be. It's his job." His hand moves across the counter toward her clenched fist, hesitating ever-so-slightly before he gently covers her fist. "You're not alone."

Rey blinks down at their hands in surprise—his larger hand over hers, the dryness of his fingers, the warmth coming through his palm. She turns her hand, opening it, grabbing at his before he has time to withdraw it, and looks up. " _Ben_ —" she whispers urgently as she meets his eyes, curling her fingers around his. His expression is dark, intense, and underneath it runs a sadness she realizes she hasn't noticed until now. He seems so _lonely_ , and now that she thinks about it—except for Dr. Snoke she doesn't seem him interact regularly with anyone. He doesn't go out for lunch or drinks or attend the seminars where grad students go for free food—he just doesn't mix with anyone here. She squeezes his fingers. "Neither are you."

Maybe she imagines it, but it seems that Ben draws closer. She holds her breath, involuntarily parts her lips. Then her email notification chimes, loudly, three times. Rey jumps, pulling back, releasing Ben's hand as she looks to the screen. "They're all from Skywalker," she nearly whispers, deflated.

"Well." Beside her Ben is turning back to his work. She'd swear there's a tiny dusting of a blush across his cheeks. "—Just don't let him get to you. He's good at that."

"Ah…" Rey casts about, but the moment is lost. The clock says 2:21. "I should go. Get some rest. This'll run until about ten." She pats the machine, just to illustrate. Ben just nods.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest, and her brain isn't processing things properly. She packs up her laptop clumsily, hoping Ben doesn't notice. Finally she goes to leave, calling half-heartedly, "See you tomorrow."

"No," he replies, and her heart sinks. But then he throws her a look over his shoulder, a casual smile, lightly correcting, "See you _today_." And while she hardly has the right to, Rey practically floats home.


	13. Conference

**I know my update schedule is spotty (i.e., not a "schedule")… but thanks for the reads and reviews!**

 **.**

 **Conference**

 **.**

"Niima!" Dr. Skywalker barks the moment she steps out into the hallway. He's leaving the staff lounge and headed straight toward her.

Rey tries her hardest not to look dead asleep. She's on her way to check on her machine in the lab. Last night Solo— _Ben_ , her subconscious corrects—had momentarily distracted her from panicking about her deadline, but by the time she was back at her apartment in bed she'd remembered the whole thing full-force. All night she'd dreamed she was writing her paper, writing the same one sentence over and over, trying to make it make sense. She's disappointed to see, as she passes Solo's office, that he doesn't seem to have made it in yet.

"Dr. Skywalker?" she meets him mid-hallway.

"How's your presentation coming?"

Rey blinks. "Ah, I—what?"

"For the national conference. What with our being less than two weeks out—anything from that most recent chapter going into your talk?"

"W-what?"

"You'll have to clarify what part of that you're questioning." Dr. Skywalker frowns, taking a gulp of the coffee-substance in his mug. Rey happens to know that he likes that terrible instant coffee, the powder you stir into hot water rather than the real stuff.

"The—I'm sorry, sir, it's been a really stressful semester," Rey shakes her head, trying to regain her composure. "It's—it's coming fine. Will you want a copy of that too, or—?" Two weeks. _Two weeks?_ Rey _prays_ with everything in her that he says no.

"Oh no, just checking," Skywalker says with a twinge of something, brushing past her and continuing toward his office. Rey is left to wonder whether he's being sarcastic and continues on toward the staff room. She's going to need a really _fucking_ strong cup of coffee to handle this.

 _Two weeks._ Rey's hand shakes as she pulls down the coffee canister, trying to fight her rising panic. She's supposed to give a talk about her research at that conference. She's been prepared in other ways for months: saving a bit each month to cover the hotel, her meals, the airfare. But she hasn't even _thought_ of the presentation since she submitted her proposal, and the thing is in—"Less than two fucking weeks," she mutters out loud, slamming the coffee pot back into place and turning the machine on.

"You sound thrilled," a voice says from the doorway.

Rey's stomach fills with butterflies and she looks to the source of the comment. He's wearing a sport coat today, the kind with deliberate elbow patches. _Damn_ , she thinks, speechless as he moves toward her, quirking an eyebrow.

"You going?" she asks, suddenly unable to hold his gaze, turning her attention to the cupboard as she reaches for a coffee mug. There's something dangerous in the way he's watching her, like he already knows everything she's thinking. Hell, maybe he does—she's certainly been in a mood to spill her guts to him lately.

"Bit last-minute, but I've worked something out."

"You presenting?"

"Second verse, same as the first."

Rey snorts at the expression. She hesitates briefly but then decides to grab for a second mug, offering it to him as she pushes the cabinet closed. He's suddenly standing a lot closer to her so that she has to look up into his face to address him.

"Thanks," he takes the mug, his fingers brushing against hers ever-so-slightly. They leave a trail of fire in their wake, and Rey almost forgets to breathe. "What about it?"

"Skyw…" Rey hesitates, catching herself, letting his name die on her lips. Of course she knows what's wrong—she doesn't have _time_ for the national conference. She doesn't have time for _any_ -fucking-thing right now, thank you very much, but Skywalker just keeps heaping expectations on her. She's pretty sure he _does_ want to see her conference presentation—so he can tell her it's wrong, and ask for a million edits, and waste more of her precious time just to appease him. "I hate everything," she finally tells Ben, shrugging.

A corner of Ben's mouth quirks upward. "I find that very hard to believe."

Tears of frustration begin to prick at Rey's eyes. Or maybe it's the early hour, the lack of sleep—she quickly looks away, setting her mug on the counter and reaching up to run her hands through her hair.

"Hey," Ben says softly. "One thing at a time."

Rey blinks down at the counter, exhaling shakily, mortified. She glances over to see Ben reaching for her, but he withdraws his hand the moment she notices it. _No, please_ , she tries to say, but the words stick in her throat. She looks back down at the coffee pot in front of her, the slow drip.

Ben moves to the sink to idly rinse out his mug. When he turns the sink off Rey feels his eyes on her, but she doesn't look up. They stand in uncomfortable silence until he mutters an "excuse me" and exits the room, leaving his mug on the counter.

Rey feels even _worse_ about that. The coffee takes forever to drip through, Ben's mug rests abandoned, and a younger grad student comes and goes, leaving his lunch in the fridge. When the coffee is done Rey fills her borrowed mug, taking a deep breath. Of course Ben is right—there's no other way. She'll put out today's fires, then make time to think about the next thing, just like always.

She's about to leave the lounge when she spots Ben's empty mug. After hesitating a moment, she grabs for it and fills it, too. It's a small thing, she tells herself—just a friendly gesture.

As expected, he's in his office, getting up from his chair the moment she comes to stand in the doorway.

"Oh, I—" Rey starts, holding out the mug. "You were going to have coffee, right?"

"Thank you," Ben says, coming to accept the mug. His fingers brush hers again as he slides the handle of the mug off of her fingers, taking the cup carefully with both hands so as not to spill. Then suddenly he is— _millimeters_ from her, filling up the doorway, taking up all the space she has left to breathe. He's so close she can see the miniscule wrinkles in his blazer, smell the spicy mix of soap and cologne he's wearing. Rey looks up, wondering, into his face, which he lowers—closer and closer—until his mouth pauses just beside her ear. He exhales, ever-so-slightly, and the feeling of his breath against her skin gives her goosebumps.

"Don't let him get to you," Ben breathes, his voice even lower than normal: the gentle rumble of it makes something inside Rey sing. "He's only like that with you because he knows you're the strongest researcher out of everyone."

Then he withdraws, turning back toward his desk, and it's everything Rey can do to leave his doorway gracefully, to not trip over her own feet or stutter out something stupid in response or spill her coffee. She leaves because she thinks her face might be on fire for how warm it feels, because only a _moment_ longer standing that close to him and she would've been tempted to press her lips to his cheek.


	14. Calculations

**Sorry I disappeared. Trying to gain my momentum back on this. Thanks for your patience!**

 **.**

 **Calculations**

 **.**

Rey's spent all morning working up to running into Ben again. Every time the Pomodoro tracker on her phone goes off, she spends her five-minute break pacing her office and trying to figure out something to say, some reason to see him, some way to ease gradually into the attraction that's running through her like an electric current.

It can't be one-sided. Can it? After this morning, with the coffee? Sure people lower their voices to gossip—that's how all departments work—but they don't lean in and almost _kiss_ you when they do it, now, do they? Rey's mind is racing and all her nervous energy is channeling into her work in a way that is surprisingly productive.

Probably, of course, there's the matter of too much caffeine. That becomes evident when a sharp rap to her door—barely cracked open—scares her so badly she overturns her chair with a crash.

The door flies open. "Are you okay?"

Rey deflates when she hears his voice, even as she scrambles to right her chair. It's Finn.

"Sorry, over-caffeinated."

"I get that," Finn nods. "The other day when I was finishing up my notes on—"

"Also—sorry—" Rey interrupts him, apologizing because she does, after all, count him as a friend—"really pressed for time. Do you need something?"

"No, but you do." Finn pulls from behind his back a boxed Greek salad—the kind they sell at the library café a few buildings over. It's one of Rey's favorites for a quick meal, but only when she budgets for it. Finn brings the salad to her desk, pulling a wrapped plastic fork out of his pocket. "A little birdie told me you were stressed and probably hungry."

"Little birdie?" Rey repeats, fixating on the salad. It's after 1 and she still hasn't eaten—actually, _anything_ all day.

"Maybe a big one." Finn shoves his hands in his pockets.

"What? I mean thank you." Rey opens the box and tears at the dressing packet, suddenly salivating.

"A tall birdie, with elbow patches. –Honestly it was kind of weird, like he thinks he's the friend police? I mean I'm happy to support you, Rey, but like I don't get why he's telling _me_ to—unless—oh my God, Rey, are you okay? Is something else wrong?"

"No! No," Rey says quickly, cutting him off. Finn goes from zero to panic faster than anyone she knows.

"Because if you need help—"

Rey feels her face heat up, the old shame. She shakes her head firmly, pushing it from her mind. "It's not that at _all_. I'm on budget, Finn. I'm fine. I just forgot to eat, and I guess he anticipated that."

Finn looks thoughtful. "All that time you've been spending together in the lab—"

"You mean doing my research."

"I mean, no shame in a little stress relief." Finn raises an eyebrow and makes a suggestive motion with his hips.

"OH MY GOD NO," Rey stops him, her face suddenly on fire, panicking at what on earth could have led Finn to that conclusion. Is she _that_ obvious?

"Really?" Finn seems to deflate. "He's insisting we like take care of you and he's not…? You're not even secretly dating?"

"No!" It occurs to her that she's shoveling salad into her mouth at an alarming rate. She puts the fork down deliberately, wanting to enjoy the food and not just inhale it. "Finn. Thank you for the salad. So much. I have _zero_ interesting gossip, and I'm sorry you were bullied into buying me lunch."

That's enough of a dismissal for him; he leaves momentarily with a last suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, which leaves Rey staring, bewildered, at her salad.

"…as you'll notice in figure 7.3."

Rey has a forkful of lettuce paused halfway to her mouth when Ben's face suddenly appears on her computer. _FaceTime strikes again_. Except this time he's teaching, looking and gesturing somewhere off to the side. He's in a lecture hall, she realizes, and must be using some sort of split-screen mode, because he goes on talking without error. At least his students aren't seeing her gawking back at them from the big screen, she thinks; but just then he turns back to the computer, stopping in midsentence as her image similarly fills his computer screen.

Rey is still holding her forkful of salad aloft. _Sorry_ , she mouths, shaking her head to convey that this wasn't her doing. She gestures with her other hand at the computer, shrugs.

There's a long, awkward pause as Ben stares at her. "Uh—" he manages, losing face just slightly. Then he turns back to the big screen; Rey hears the _click_ of the trackpad. "My computer seems to have a bug—" Rey makes an indignant sound—"but I think we're good. Anyway, after the catalyst the results came out as shown in figure 7.4…"

Rey listens to him lecture, trying to eat quietly, trying (in vain) to end the call. He doesn't stay entirely in frame, but when he does she watches how the sport coat moves when he gestures, how the dress shirt underneath is stretched over his muscular chest.

Even though she could shrink the call, move it out of the way of the work she's doing, she doesn't. Instead she watches, crunching quietly on her salad. He won't know that she's watching him—for all he knows, she's reading something on the screen. Now and then she traces a finger across the trackpad and clicks uselessly, trying to maintain the illusion that she's busy with something else.

Ben is a confident teacher and fields questions fairly well, though there's a hint of arrogance in the way he addresses the students. She rolls her eyes at the way he answers one question and his gaze flickers to the screen, briefly; she busies herself moving a paper around on the desk as if it's something she's working on.

Then she hears a mechanical whirr—the sound of the projector screen lifting. "On the board I've written some problems that Dr. Snoke will be testing you on. Work through them—alone or with a partner—and we'll come back to them as a class in our last ten minutes."

As the noise level in the room increases, Rey watches Ben reach for his laptop. "Show's over," he mutters, looking directly into the camera with a smirk, and Rey chokes on the water she's drinking. The screen goes dark as Ben's computer goes to sleep, and after a tense minute of silence, the call ends.


	15. Lies

**Wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who's been reading and reviewing so far. I'm working up to some exciting chapters and I've enjoyed this process, even if it sometimes comes out drabble-y. Next upload will be two chapters at once, so stay tuned!**

 **.**

 **Lies**

 **.**

Rey almost keeps it together. Monday afternoon passes, fueled by stress, caffeine, and the occasional errant thought of Dr. Ben Solo in elbow patches. The building is starting to clear out when she runs into another snag with the spreadsheet software; and with her door closed, she vents her rage with a single exclamation of, "MOTHERFUCKER!" punctuated by her closed fist pounding once, hard, on her desk.

Her wrist hurts then, and she shakes it out gingerly. She's still scowling when a sharp knock comes at her door. It doesn't sound friendly, and she's tempted to pretend she isn't there; but clearly she is. Still scowling and tense, she calls out, "Yes?"

She hears the handle wiggle instead of a response. Frustrated, Rey gets out of her chair and flings the door open.

Dr. Ben Solo stands there, one eyebrow raised in what feels like judgement, observing her state. "Are you alright?" he asks coolly.

"Yeah, I'm fucking great," Rey snaps, stalking back to her chair before remembering herself; she drops into the chair and rests her head in her hands, unable to look at him. "Sorry," she mumbles, feeling miserable.

Ben, instead of answering, invites himself in. She sees out of the corner of her eye as he moves toward her, leaning over to view her computer screen. After a few moments of silence, she sits up, raising her hand in a defeated gesture to indicate the laptop.

"I see," Ben mumbles. "Actually—" He reaches past her toward the keyboard, pausing briefly before he touches it—"may I?"

"If there is literally _anything_ you can do, then yes, by all means," Rey pushes the computer at him.

Ben co-opts a chair from its place along the wall and sits at the desk beside her, highlighting columns and muttering to himself. "See, it's—you've put the wrong operator in this section."

"I haven't," she argues. "That's what the tutorial says."

"The tutorial is outdated."

Rey watches him fiddle with the program in ways she never would've figured out herself. Soon she begins to see a pattern in the way he's rearranging things, one that _makes sense_ , and with one final value pasted in, the spreadsheet runs and produces a beautiful, accurate, perfectly-formed graph.

"Ben!" Rey exclaims as relief washes over her, grabbing at his arm. "I could—"

 _Kiss you_ , the end of that thought goes, but suddenly their faces are _very_ close. He smells good, like a sweet, summery cologne, and his smile fades just so as they realize at once their proximity. Suddenly the errant exclamation is something more like a threat. Rey can't stop herself before she glances longingly at his full lips, and when she flickers her gaze back to his dark eyes he meets her there, keeping eye contact. His expression softens in the smallest way; she swallows as his soft exhale _puffs_ into her face and begins to lean in, ever-so-slightly.

"You see this weird-ass email we just got?"

Finn comes to a stop in the doorway and Rey jumps, startled. Ben has no other reaction than to turn and face the other man.

"What?" Rey frowns. Belatedly, she notices her hand still on Ben's arm; she lets go, turning her laptop back towards herself and opening the tab with her email in it. It's an announcement of an emergency seminar— _Mandatory for all professors, staff, instructors, graduate students, etc.… this Thursday at 6:30 p.m.…_

"It doesn't say what it's about," she says, unnecessarily.

"I wonder if someone died," Finn blurts.

Ben reads over Rey's shoulder. "I don't think that's how they'd handle it."

"Well, here's hoping none of us had _plans_ that evening." With Ben still facing the computer, Finn cuts his eyes at him, raising his eyebrows in some kind of expectation.

Rey returns with an annoyed expression.

"I'll just be going then," Finn waves with an exaggerated wink. Rey thanks her lucky stars Ben wasn't looking.

When Rey looks back to him, Ben cuts his head in the direction of the doorway. "That was odd. Is that his usual mode?"

Rey hums noncommittally, not enjoying the tone Ben takes when talking about her friend. "And is _your_ usual mode providing lunch via unpaid messenger?"

Ben sniffs. "I see. Far be it from me to make sure you get to eat. A simple thank-you would suffice."

His helpful tone has completely vanished, turned argumentative. Rey bristles at the shift. "Yeah, well, sorry to inconvenience you. Except you didn't even do anything, did you? It was no cost to you to _harangue_ —"

Ben's phone is vibrating. He pulls it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen, and quickly becomes preoccupied with it. "Hang on," he says to Rey, interrupting her as he inputs the lock code and reads his messages. Within moments Rey hears ringing as he places a call and he stands to leave, but not before Rey hears a woman's voice answer: "Hello?"

"What do you mean, you're here? You were just in town…" Ben's voice fades as he takes the call into the hallway, and Rey's blood runs cold. Immediately she remembers the time she'd dismissed, a few weeks back, when he's been distracted by something off-screen. At the time she'd assumed he had a roommate, or a cat, or something like that. But now she realizes that what Ben has is a _girlfriend_.

 _Maybe not!_ she tries to tell herself, thinking about how annoyed he sounded when she answered, how confused he was when he'd gotten her text. _Maybe it's his sister! And not that it matters anyway, since he's a huge fucking asshole and I'm not interested!_

It's a poor lie, but Rey doesn't have time to sort through her emotions otherwise. She clings to it as Ben's short phone call ends.

"I have to get home," he steps back into the room, waving his phone with a tight, unhappy smile. He gestures back at her computer. "Did you follow what I did, with—"

"I've got it," Rey glares at him.

He gives her a hard stare. She doesn't know how to read it, nor does she care. He his man has been flirting up and down with her and he has a fucking _girlfriend_!

"I paid Storm to bring you lunch," he says finally, and then he's gone.


	16. Grading

**.**

 **Grading**

 **.**

Rey emails her article to Dr. Skywalker on time and doesn't set foot on campus for two days. After pulling yet another all-nighter, she sleeps through most of Tuesday; she figures she deserves it. When, on Wednesday morning, she gets a last-minute departmental reminder of a special lecture given by Dr. Ben O. Solo, she deletes the email immediately. She'd seen the posters up in the building for the past two weeks—an awkward, stilted photo of him accompanied by the title of his talk. The poster heralded his credentials and status as a researcher with Dr. Snoke, but at the time Rey was more interested in that "O.," in trying to imagine his middle name.

When she returns to campus on Thursday, she couldn't care less what his middle name is. All she wants to do is avoid him at all costs, but she has TA duties to catch up on. She goes to the mailroom first, to pick up the huge stack of papers Dr. Skywalker left her—it's so big, actually, that he shifted the removable shelves of the mailboxes around, shrinking the box above her into almost nothing in order to accommodate all the tests. _At least it's multiple choice_ , Rey thinks as she slides the shelf out, making everyone's mailboxes even again.

When she gets to her office, she notices Ben's office is dark, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She's quick to close the door behind her and opts to leave her computer in her bag for now, focusing on the robotic task of grading. It's nice to do something analog once in a while, and flipping through the stacks of papers is almost therapeutic. She grades all of the first pages at once, then the second. She pulls out her phone to check the time as she starts the third page; but she only gets through three of them before music intrudes on her quiet room, unbidden.

The screen of her phone shows a ceiling, the blades of a running ceiling fan, and then a brief flash of elbow; and the sound of a voice singing off-key cuts through the music. If she'd saved for one of those indestructible phone cases, Rey would seize her phone and pitch it across the room at the wall—but she didn't, so it isn't an option. Instead she presses the home button furiously, trying to force it to give her the option to end the call.

No dice. Ben reaches for the phone, revealing once again a flash of his muscled, naked chest; he starts when he sees Rey's face on the screen.

"Shit!" he curses quietly, surprised to see her there. He manages to stop the music from playing and looks as if he's about to speak again, but Rey interrupts him.

"It's doing the thing again," she says by way of a greeting.

"I noticed," he replies, raising an eyebrow. He's home in the middle of the day, fresh from a shower if his hair is any indication. "How—" He looks away from the screen again, his thought going unfinished. "Hang on." Faintly, Rey hears a far off female voice.

Next she hears him place the phone down and open a door, but after that she doesn't want to hear anymore. She opens her backpack and buries her phone between papers and books, zipping the compartment and tossing the bag into a corner in what is probably overkill. It lands with a _flop_ and she returns to her furious grading, nearly slashing all the way through one student's paper with her red pen before catching herself and slowing down. Once she hears the faint sound of him calling out, but she stuffs earbuds into her ears—though they're connected to nothing—to muffle any traces of his voice.

 **.**

 **As promised I am double-uploading, so continue reading with the next chapter! I think it will make some of y'all happy.**


	17. Dinner

**.**

 **Dinner**

 **.**

When Rey finishes with the papers, she has no idea how much time has passed. Standing up to stretch, she leaves the phone where she banished it and steps out into the hallway.

"Niima!" Dr. Skywalker calls out to her, making her jump.

"I finished grading!" she calls out automatically as she turns to him—but he's looking very unlike himself in that his clothes don't give the impression of a grubby hermit. Most of the time the man is fond of blue jeans and short-sleeved button-ups (untucked), but this afternoon he's wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and a sport coat.

"Close your mouth; you'll catch flies," he grumps as he makes his way down the hallway. "And thank you. That's what I was about to ask. Have you input the grades as well?"

"Not yet," Rey says, trying to maintain her smile as her sense of accomplishment rapidly deflates.

"Do that next," he instructs unnecessarily. "And let's not tell anyone else about this," he sweeps his hand to indicate his attire. "I have to take my _sister_ to dinner."

Rey tries to hide her confusion.

"She can't be out with her brother looking like a _normal human being_ , oh no, not if some member of the _press_ notices, like _they_ even eat this early…better be back for Hux's 6:30 _jamboree_ …" He continues to grumble as he moves down the hall, waggling one finger in the air for emphasis and clearly not caring that no one is in earshot.

 _What press? His sister is famous? I don't even remember him having a sister_. Rey wanders down the hallway looking for coffee, trying to recall literally anything she might've learned about Dr. Skywalker's family, but she comes up with nothing. Scattered among his office are pictures of him with various people of varying degrees of fame at official events—no family photos. And for the life of her she can't think of any famous woman with the name "Skywalker," and if she's married and changed her name then there's absolutely no telling…

Rey is still puzzling distractedly over this problem when she returns to her office, so she forgets to close the door. She retrieves her backpack, extracting her laptop, and is about to log on when soft footfalls give way to a polite knock against the doorframe and she looks up.

 _Oh_.

She tries to remember how angry she is with him, how he's clearly been hiding a secret girlfriend from her. She tries—really, honestly _tries_ —not to react to Ben standing there, but her cheeks heat up all the same and she pretends to have a coughing fit to cover up whatever truth he may have seen in her face.

"Alright there?" he asks softly, smirking the tiniest bit. He's leaning easily on the door with one elbow, wearing slacks, a white Oxford, and a blazer. It's _nearly_ the exact thing she just saw Dr. Skywalker in. It's _nearly_ what he wears on any given day. But the quality of the clothes is much nicer, more pristine, and there's a difference— _fuck_ there's a difference.

Rey sets her mouth into a line, turning away from him with a frown. "Can I help you, Dr. Solo?" she asks briskly, logging into the computer and busying herself by opening several documents, none of which she has any intention of working on.

"Too much to do?" he asks, not able to hide a slight tone of disappointment.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Have you had time to eat anything?"

"Not since lunch." Rey glances quickly at him, opening a browser and beginning to compose an email to Dr. Skywalker that she has no intention of sending.

"Then let me be transparent: I'm offering to buy you dinner."

Rey glances furtively at him again, thinking a moment over his response. His lips are turned up, just slightly—a ghost of a smile. He's anticipating that she'll accept, and her blood boils. "Didn't I hear you have _company_?" she asks, misspelling "Skywalker" twice and jabbing at the "backspace" key with unnecessary force.

Ben doesn't answer, and when she finally looks at him again, his brow is furrowed. "Not any longer; she's about to leave town." As Rey glares, something like recognition dawns on Ben's face, and suddenly he is full-on smirking, choking down laughs. "Ms. Niima," he steps forward into her office with a barely-disguised smile in his voice, "Are you concerned about the company I've been keeping?"

Rey holds her mouth in a line, very unclear as to why this is funny. Quickly she drags another window on top of her email, afraid he'll read over her shoulder the nonsense she's been typing so as to ignore him. "I think it's clear there's no cause for _concern_. I just don't think you're in a position to offer to buy _me_ dinner."

When she turns to glare at him, his expression is— _bright_ , his eyes practically laughing. "Why not? I have the funds. I'll get us back in time for whatever the hell that thing is at 6:30. And I don't think my mother would object."

 _His_ mother _? What does_ she _have to do with—_

Rey replays the sentence, the slightest heaviness he placed on that particular word. And then things click into place.

"She travels a lot for work. Loves to stop by unannounced."

Rey turns back to her computer, staring studiously at her hands on the keyboard as she tries to compose herself. _So… not a secret girlfriend. Which means I look like an ass._

"We can pick up takeout, if you like. Bring it back here." As he talks the humor fades from his voice. "You could even just—go back to working. But at least come out with me to get it? Or… I don't know. Don't." He's shifting his elbow from where it rests against the door, getting ready to take his leave, not trying to mask his disappointment.

"Wait!" she blurts, standing up suddenly.

He lifts his eyebrows coolly, waiting.

"Ah, yes, actually. Yes, I'd like to have dinner with you. Except—" she glances down at her casual blouse and leggings, clothes she'd picked for an evening of working alone—"I don't think… I'm not exactly dressed for—"

"You look great. And we'll go somewhere casual," Ben says, unable to hide his smile. "How do you feel about Indian?"

"Sounds perfect."

 **.**

 **More soon!**


	18. Policy

**.**

 **Policy**

 **.**

Ben drives a _really nice_ car. It's a Porsche—sleek and black on the outside with a black leather interior. Inside, it's completely spotless—Rey doesn't think she's ever known a man who kept his car this clean. She can't help but remark on it as they climb in. "Wow, you really trust other drivers, don't you?"

"Not at all, but what can I say?—" he flickers his eyes to her briefly—"I like nice things."

Rey rolls her eyes, snorting at the clumsy line, but her cheeks feel warm all the same. It smells good in the car, too: a mixture of the leather and Ben's cologne. They make small talk on the drive to dinner—nothing groundbreaking—and pull up to the restaurant within less than ten minutes.

Ben's been here often; he goes over the menu with Rey, recommending his favorite dishes. He insists that Rey choose an appetizer. When food arrives, their conversation is only moderately interrupted by their eating. Rey tries her best not to inhale the food like it's her last meal, but she can tell from the tiny smile Ben attempts to hide that she's not the most ladylike when faced with several plates of food.

When she tries to replay it later in her mind, Rey can't remember their conversation. Really, she can't remember where one topic ended and another began—the theme was grad school, schooling in general, science. Even away from the university they spend all their free time talking and thinking about their work.

Well. Not _all_.

What Rey remembers vividly are the looks Ben kept giving her—subtle shifts in his expression that said more than he could manage out loud. The quick flicker of his eyes up her body when she excused herself to the ladies' room to wash her hands, where she convinced herself she must have been imagining things. The way jaw clenched when she—forgetting herself—licked the rose syrup of their dessert from her fingers: she'd blushed, quickly dropping the last finger into her lap where she could clean it with a napkin. The moment on the drive back to campus when she'd turned to steal a glance at his strong profile only to find that _he_ was watching _her_ instead.

They park outside their building with a handful of minutes to spare before the meeting begins. Ben reaches a long arm into the backseat to grab for Rey's leftovers, saving her the trouble of opening the back door, and Rey is hit full-on with the heady smell of his cologne. It's intoxicating. She follows him inside and up to the sixth floor to their faculty/staff lounge, where they deposit her leftovers in the fridge and he checks the coffee maker.

"Cold," he announces, disappointed at the contents of the glass pot. "Ready?"

It's quiet on the floor—everyone's probably already down in the basement lecture hall for the meeting. As Ben steps into the hallway, Rey gathers up all her nerve and calls out to him—"Ben, wait."

He turns back into the lounge abruptly, and suddenly Rey is standing very close to him. He inclines his head toward hers, not taking a step back, and she stammers under his intense gaze. "I—I just wanted to say thank you."

"Thank _you_ for coming with me," Ben answers immediately, lifting a cautious hand to her hair. He fingers a few strands briefly before withdrawing the hand, dropping his gaze from hers in a way that strikes her as almost bashful.

Before she can change her mind, Rey leans up and places a soft kiss at the side of Ben's mouth. When she meets his eyes again, they're wide and dark and she freezes, worried that she's done something wrong. Ben swallows audibly, his eyes lingering a moment longer on her face before he nods his head ever-so-slightly in the direction of the hallway, turning to go.

Rey follows him—past the staircase they ascended, the one they use all the time—to the far elevator. It's the oldest of the two in the building, one that moves more slowly. She and Ben wait in awkward silence as they hear it gradually creak its way upward, floor by floor, before opening its doors in a shudder. All the while her mind is racing, wondering what any of this _means_ —the meals, the attention, his hand in her hair.

Rey steps in when the elevator opens, eager to make some sort of movement. Ben follows; the door slides closed; and suddenly his mouth is on hers, his full lips and the flicker of his tongue and when she instantly accepts, opening her mouth to deepen the kiss, it's all over. He wraps one arm around her and braces another against the wall of the elevator as she presses her body forward into his; she's carding her fingers through his soft, thick hair, running her other hand up and down his solid, muscular back and back up toward his shoulders as all the while he kisses her with absolute fervor. He sucks at her bottom lip, laves his tongue gently along her jawbone, presses his lips into the delicate skin of her neck and Rey is thinking _finally, finally, finally._

When she has the presence of mind to remember they're in a moving elevator which seems to be slowing down, Rey looks up to see that the red number above the panel reads "1"—and already she's too late, the door is opening in the moment she realizes that "1" instead of "B" means _someone else is getting on_ and as Ben continues his ministrations on her neck the door slides all the way open to reveal the very shocked face of her _fucking_ advisor.

Ben must notice how Rey stiffens, or else he hears her sudden, squeaky gasp; smoothly, he straightens, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead and turning to face the intruder. As he moves he places his broad body between Rey and Dr. Skywalker, affording her a few precious moments to collect herself.

Meanwhile, Rey knows the only thing that will save her from dying of embarrassment would be dying of something else—a snapped elevator cable, a faulty door. _Please, please, please, plummet and kill me right now_ , she thinks hard at the elevator. But a few more moments and they have arrived at the basement.

Dr. Skywalker reaches forward for the "OPEN DOOR" button, waiting for the two of them to exit ahead of him. Rey says nothing, hurrying past Ben out of the elevator and straight for the auditorium. She hears him on her heels and is unsurprised, when they reach the open door of the auditorium, that he follows her into a row of seats and settles into the seat beside her.

When finally Rey allows herself to glance at his face, he looks almost smug. The expression _the cat that ate the canary_ comes to mind. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben notices her staring—and the smolder his eyes give her in answer sends a thrill through her that almost kills her embarrassment. Casually, Ben drapes his forearm over the arm of the seat, opening his palm in an invitation. Rey places her smaller hand in his, feels his fingers close around hers easily.

Dean Hux, in his eternally severe, unsmiling way, is just taking the stage. Hux announces that this meeting has been called to highlight allegations of sexual misconduct in another department: a graduate student in the English department was discovered to have been living with her advisor. The case has quickly spread outside of the university, from education blogs to the national news networks; and now administrators everywhere are on high alert, _especially_ here.

As Hux drones on about policy, Ben absently rubs his thumb along the back of her hand, and Rey inhales deeply, noticing how the sweet scent of his cologne has transferred into the strands of her hair.

The scent reminds her of the kiss and all she can think about is doing it again—about taking the elevator back upstairs to one of their offices, keeping the lights off and shutting the door—or else climbing into that fancy black Porsche and letting Ben take her somewhere, anywhere, to finish what they started.

"I'm certain this reminder will touch exactly none of your lives," Hux pauses for a moment to glare around the auditorium in slow-motion. "But if you are on the cusp, let me be clear: there shall be absolutely no relationships between faculty and graduate students, even if those relationships are consensual; and I will be exercising a policy of zero tolerance. The line between student and staff will _not_ be crossed."

Rey glances around the audience to see if anyone's reacting with anything other than sheer boredom. Sure, the English department had a scandal. They're batshit about everything anyway. But here? This bunch of grubby, ragtag scientists? The idea is downright laughable.

"I don't even think it's worth mentioning that _none_ of you should have relationships with undergraduates, as that is and has always been explicitly prohibited. Regardless, since graduate students are often also adults, we _have to_ make a distinction—short-term instructors, tenured professors, postdocs: if your title is not _student_ you _should not be_ engaging in anything other than a professional relationship with one."

Rey feels Ben stiffen beside her, his grip tightening on her hand. She swallows carefully. The policy is too draconian—it doesn't make sense. Is this same speech being made in every department? Of course it was wrong for a graduate student to be sleeping with her _advisor_ —he's in charge of her degree. But if someone has no power over your advancement, isn't even involved in the work you do…

She glances around the room again, turning just enough to peer over her shoulder. Presently she spots Dr. Skywalker, a couple of rows back, regarding her with a stern, stony expression.

"Please be aware," Hux is continuing, "that this policy is not formed lightly. Is it stricter than usual? Yes. But the administration has made it infinitely clear that the university not be vulnerable to any other similar speculation _or_ revelation. There will be consequences…"

Dr. Skywalker holds Rey's gaze steadily. Gently but decisively, she pulls her hand out of Ben's.


	19. Warning

**I'm sorry for the super-long absences, y'all. Thank you for your follows and eager comments. Slowly but surely more is coming—but there's gonna be some angst before we get a real payoff… (who's surprised?). Plus I had to keep up the theme of "Luke ruins everything."**

 **.**

 **Warning**

 **.**

Rey and Ben avoid eye contact when the meeting ends. When Rey took her hand from his, he'd withdrawn his arm, folding it against his body in a way that looked uncomfortable. Now as they try to exit the auditorium without drawing attention, Dr. Skywalker reaches out and catches her by the arm.

"Niima, a word?" he says, his expression neutral.

Rey halts, facing him, bracing herself for what's coming. "Yes, sir?" she asks, not proud of how her voice squeaks on the way out.

"Rey—" Ben turns and sees her detained. She only flickers her eyes at him briefly, but he points upward and nods. She assumes that means he'll be in his office when they're done.

"Here, sir?" Rey asks Dr. Skywalker.

"Oh, here is fine. It'll only be a moment." He steps back, inviting her into the row of seats he's standing in. Across the auditorium, other professors and students have grouped off to have their own discussions. They don't stand out; and for that, Rey is grateful.

"Niima," he begins, looking casually across the auditorium as he speaks to her in low tones, "I'm sick and tired of academia. You know that. You also know very well what you heard here tonight. Do I have any interest in kissing the dean's ass? No. Do I have any interest in turning in one of my students? No. Does the rule even make _sense_? Not entirely. But—"

"Sir, I—" Rey tries to interject, but he silences her with a look. She was going to apologize, though she isn't sure what for, other than inadvertently creating for the both of them a mortifying situation.

"There are those in this department who _want_ to see students crash and burn," Dr. Skywalker says, looking her right in the eye, "and not even _my_ good word will stop them. We have an ethics problem, Niima. Do you understand?"

"I… I don't know," Rey says, hoping her blush isn't giving her away. "You mean… someone, maybe, who has the power to decide… who gets a degree?" Dr. Skywalker himself has never warned her about Dr. Snoke—only other graduate students, only the rumor mill, and honestly Rey hasn't had to deal with him at all.

Dr. Skywalker doesn't answer, just looks away again. The silence stretches so long that Rey wonders if that's her cue to leave, and after a few moments of hesitating she begins to turn away.

"Niima."

She turns back, meeting Dr. Skywalker's eyes again. "You do good work. You have too much to lose. Understand?"

Rey takes his words in, gives him a curt nod. It's not often he calls her work "good," not often he gives compliments of any kind at all.

Dr. Skywalker leans the smallest bit closer, delivering with finality his last statement: "Stay away from Ben Solo."

 **.**

Rey rides the elevator up with several other colleagues, none of whom she knows well, and hurries into her own office, closing the door quietly, carefully behind her.

Standing there in the semi-dark with her back to the door, she wonders what she should do next. The light filtering in from the campus streetlights below is just enough to illuminate the silhouette of her desk; she stares without seeing as she tries to comprehend the past few hours. As she shifts, just slightly, she smells Ben's cologne on her hair and relives the kiss all over again. Her eyes drop closed as she remembers the way his arm felt around her, the press of his lips on the column of her throat, the protective way he'd reached for her hand when they were seated.

Then she replays Dr. Skywalker's cryptic advice, his clear mandate, and tries to make sense of it. He doesn't want her to lose her progress, to lose her chances of finishing by breaking Dean Hux's rule. But there's something _else_ running underneath it…

After a few more moments, she flicks the lights on and goes to open her computer and input the grades she abandoned hours ago.

Someone knocks on her door. Rey freezes in place.

"Rey?" Ben knocks again.

Rey reaches for the handle but starts when she hears another voice, much louder than it should be. "She has a lot of work to do for me." _Dr. Skywalker_. And he's practically shouting, making sure she hears on the other side—she _knows_ what he's doing. "Did you need something, Dr. Solo?"

Their voices decrease in volume. Ben says something vague about speaking to her, and Dr. Skywalker replies. Rey hears less and less of the conversation; after a good twenty seconds she realizes she's holding her breath so as not to make any noise, straining to hear. She'll "happen" to leave her office now, she thinks—maybe make eye contact with Ben, maybe be lucky and not have to see Dr. Skywalker at all. But when she opens the door, all she sees is an empty hallway. Ben's office door is shut, no light on underneath.

It's fifteen minutes later that she actually finishes inputting the grades and packs up. She checks her phone for the umpteenth time—no messages from Ben. _Why hasn't he said anything?_ She breathes deep, inhaling his cologne where the smell has clung to her hair, remembering the intensity of his eyes, the satisfied look on his face in the auditorium. _Sorry I missed you_ , she types, her thumb stopping short of hitting "send."

 _Did Dr. Skywalker talk to him, too? Are we being told off? Is this what we get for making out in the elevator?_ Rey turns the questions over in her head as she makes her way home, all the while hoping that when she gets in and pulls her phone out of her bag, she'll have a string of messages, a missed call. But by the time she's letting herself into her apartment, her thoughts have taken a darker turn. _Maybe Ben doesn't have anything to say. Maybe that was it. Maybe that was all he wanted—a taste. A one-time thing. He never said he wanted anything_ more _in the first place_. It almost hurts her stomach to think he'd drop her like that, but when she finally gets the courage to check her phone and there are _still_ no messages, she hits backspace until her unsent text to him has been erased.

 _Just until tomorrow_ , she tells herself.


	20. Distractions

**.**

 **Distractions**

 **.**

Rey sleeps poorly at best, and as on most Fridays, campus is quiet. She lingers in the empty lounge, taking a few sips to test her coffee and checking the fridge for her forgotten leftovers. The whole way to campus she tried to plan out something to say to Ben, some way to react after the episode in the elevator and then the announcement by Dean Hux. She'd composed any number of texts to him that ultimately went unsent as she imagined the possible misinterpretations—and worse, the possible negative responses she could receive. More than once since leaving the building last night, her thumb has hovered over the option to call him on FaceTime; but she just can't bring herself to do it.

Because Ben is a postdoc, and she's graduating in the spring. Ben will work for Snoke for at least two more years—two-to-three seems to be standard in the department—and Rey will be trying to get a job somewhere ( _anywhere_ ), and universities don't hire their own graduates to stay on in the department. They just don't.

The longer Rey stands beside the coffee maker—waiting for someone to walk by and make the building feel less empty—the more the devastating truth of her reality comes back to her. The next-closest university town is several hours away. The chances that they'll be hiring for a real job in her exact field this particular year are nearly impossible, really; and the rule of the academic job market has always been going where the jobs are, rarely leaving any room for personal preference. If this _is_ something, in what scenario do they both find success? In what scenario do both of them not have to compromise or give up on their goals? In what scenario does Ben not eventually leave her, just like everyone else she's trusted for her happiness? 

Her heart is heavy when she finally moves down the hallway toward her office. She's fitting the key in the lock when she hears the stairwell door open, and she can't help it—she whirls around—

"Oh, Rey, _please_ do you have a second?" Rose exclaims, rushing toward her. "Rey, I'm a _nervous wreck_ and I need your help."

Rey does everything in her power not to look disappointed, moving her lips into a smile. "Happy Friday," she jokes. "What's up?"

 **.**

Rose spends all morning working in Rey's office, pulling up a chair on the side of her desk and folding her legs into a pretzel. Rose is worried about her conference presentation—it's her first year to attend, and she only presented at small regional conferences during her Master's—so they end up working on their papers together, commiserating over how they're having to reduce their work into ten-minute talks. It's just distracting enough that Rey doesn't think of Ben Solo every other breath.

They take a brief break for lunch. Rey borrows a plate from the cabinet to microwave the leftover food from the night before; and as the smell of the spices fill the room she's reminded of a different kind of hunger. But Ben's door is still closed, and her cell phone still shows no messages. Out of some mixture of spite and self-preservation, Rey puts her notifications on silent and turns the phone face-down on the desk: if she doesn't receive any notifications, she won't have hope that they're from Ben.

"Skywalker won't leave you alone?" Rose nods at the phone.

"Something like that. You know, I'm really glad you're here," Rey tells Rose. "I feel like I really lost all control over my life in the past couple of weeks, and now that we're getting this done together I'm remembering that I _can_ handle all of this."

"Of course you can! You're Rey- _freakin'_ -Niima!"

Rey rolls her eyes. "I'm nobody. But seriously—I forgot how good it was to work alongside someone else." _At least someone I wasn't spending most of my time daydreaming about instead of working_. "Some people in this department really drain my mental energy, and you're helping me to focus and block out all the distractions."

A sound of someone coughing has her glancing toward the open doorway, though no one seems to be there. Rose chatters on animatedly, telling a story about an undergrad in lab; but Rey gets a sinking suspicion and casually flips her phone over on the table.

She glimpses his mouth for just a brief moment—his full, perfect lips set in a frown—before the camera blurs and goes dark. The call stays active; Rey imagines he's shoved the phone in his pocket. She slips the phone into her lap, where she can see if his image comes back on screen. But soon the call ends the same way the glitch begins—completely at random—and Rey forces a laugh at Rose's story.

"I thought we could work with the door open this afternoon," Rey suggests when they agree to get back to work. "You know, so we remember other people exist." But the rest of the afternoon drags on, and Rey doesn't see or hear from Ben again—not even the sound of his key in the lock next door.


	21. Overheard

**.**

 **Overheard**

 **.**

On Saturday Rey puts in reasonable hours on her dissertation, allowing Rose to buy her a meal as thanks for her help with Rose's conference paper. They go to a taqueria, which is both cheap and delicious, so Rey doesn't feel guilty allowing the other girl to buy.

Sunday morning, Dr. Skywalker emails her—as she'd predicted—requesting a rundown of her conference paper. Rey sends him what she has, and by Sunday night she has his "suggestions."

"Honestly, I'm envious," Finn tells her Monday morning over the coffee maker. "Skywalker doesn't spend half as much time on anyone else as he does on you. Hell, I don't think any of the other P.I.s watch any of their own students so closely."

Rey frowns at him. "You're exaggerating."

"I'm not," Finn smiles. "You're gonna have a job before the keynote. I'd bet anything."

"Not a bet I'd take," Rey grumbles, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Plus it's not like he plays well with others. You've noticed, right? No one likes—" The sentence dies on her lips when she looks up. Entering the room behind Finn is Dr. Skywalker himself—and just a few steps in front of him, Ben.

Finn glances at the doorway and snaps to. "Morning, Dr. Skywalker, Dr. Solo," he says in his professional voice. Reaching around Rey for a coffee cup, he mutters, "What was that again?"

Rey kicks at him halfheartedly on her way out, daring a glance at Ben, who is reaching into a cupboard and not paying attention. Feeling Dr. Skywalker's eyes on her, she makes a quick exit, calling sarcastically to all assembled, "Happy Monday."

 **.**

Although Rey hears his key next door several times, Ben doesn't make a move to speak to her all morning. She keeps her phone on loud and her door open, expecting him at any moment, but—nothing. When she passes his office at lunch, the door is closed. She lingers in the lounge, letting her ramen have its three-minute soak there on the counter instead of sensibly transporting it back to her office. She paces the room, pretending to read the random assortment of notices and fellowships posted to the bulletin board, but there's no sign of anyone she hopes to see—or really anyone at all.

 **.**

At nearly 3 p.m., Rey decides to take her revised conference paper to Dr. Skywalker in person. She hopes that bothering him during his office hours on the cusp of the national conference will be enough of a nuisance that he won't poke any more holes in her work. Besides, if she discusses her ideas out loud instead of providing a printed copy, he's unlikely to remember or absorb everything she says. It's a dirty move, maybe, but she really needs to get back to her dissertation.

As Rey approaches the wing of faculty offices, she hears voices drifting out of the main doorway. Getting closer, she determines it's one voice—one very _angry_ voice.

"Is this the _best_ you can do, Wojo? _Look_ at this shit! You should thank your lucky stars this is a contract position with a salary, because if _I_ was doling out the money myself you'd be fired weeks ago!"

Dr. Snoke's office is one of the first in the pod and closest to the main doorway, and Rey doesn't have to guess twice to know whom he's raising his voice at. Rey hesitates, torn between being caught eavesdropping and not wanting to walk past Snoke's office. She finally decides to plow on forward just as Snoke barks, "Do it fucking _right_ this time!"

Ben clears the doorway, and then he's looking right at her. They both stop walking, suddenly in each other's way.

His face is like a mask, but there's a set to his jaw that Rey notices. She returns his gaze with open worry, wanting to ask, _Is that normal?_ or _Are you okay?_ Ben swallows, and for a moment she thinks he's going to speak to her; but then Dr. Skywalker steps out of his office two doors down and spots Rey.

"Niima," Dr. Skywalker calls, as if he knew she was coming; and Ben starts moving again, careful not to brush up against her as he walks past.

 **.**

 **We're headed to the conference next! Again, I'm sorry for the long long** _ **long**_ **absence I've taken from this story, but I promise I'm not going to abandon it. I'm working on putting these last pieces together. And maybe I've learned a lesson for next time not to begin posting a story I haven't written all the way through-? (Oy. OTL)**


End file.
